


When The Walls Have Dried

by V_mum



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, ambiguous reader, platonic, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum
Summary: Living in the middle of nowhere was a new idea.Commissioned by: anunusualvisitor





	When The Walls Have Dried

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnUnusualVisitor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnusualVisitor/gifts).



Living in the middle of nowhere was a new idea.

It wasn't you that’d suggested it- it was your friend, who’d stayed behind. Zach had made the suggestion of making the ‘fresh start’ once you’d finally gotten the GED tests finished.

Zach, of course, stayed behind in Big City Orlando back in florida. He was working on his degree in the arts, Fine Arts of course. He prospered in the skyscrapers and the concrete jungle of the sweltering humidity.

You’d never had the same fortune. In the summers the heat was murder- mostly your own fault, a failure to stay hydrated, living on sugary sodas and moderately priced fast food coffees and high sodium food. The migraines from the heat were mind altering and within the hour, you'd find yourself retching in a trash can. The city was overbearing, even without florida heat. Claustrophobia never boded well with the encompassing towers and the tight throngs of people and cars and a thin choking, smog-like lack of fresh air helped neither the heat stroke or the choking tightness of the city.

The people in the city weren't the better. Stolen Phones and a stolen computer tablet taken right out of your car was heartbreaking and a boss more interested in cutting costs than giving you more hours kept you from saving enough to replace them. The tourists crowded the streets with no idea where they were going, no idea how to make a U-Turn on busy high traffic streets, and the tolls that absorbed tourist traffic income to keep the roads cared for trained any pocket change and made getting around your own city costly. You didn't like driving and the city didn't help.

Zach gave you the idea. Half way through an afternoon complaining session, hed- more casually then anything- put forward the idea that maybe you ought to move somewhere one day. Somewhere… country.

“You seem like the kind who’d like snow and pine trees and, ya know, peace and quiet in general.”

There's a joke in his voice, but only because what he’s saying is obvious. De-Stressing in the quiet is your favorite part of a day. “Quiet” being… subjective, because it's never quiet in a city apartment. 

Sirens and horns and airplanes see to that. There's always ambient noise.

You know he was joking- but you took to the idea. Quick, if subtle. 

When he was around you’d steal his charcoal or oil paints while he worked for his art classes and made dreamy little cabins in the woods, painting trees and Mountains- you’ve never actually seen a mountain. The closest thing to it in florida was Trash Depositories- massive amounts of trash that had been full for years, grass planted over top them to hide it. Maybe if you drove far enough from the city and found “Industrial” florida, you’d see massive man-made ‘Mountains’ where chemical plants and companies like Mosaic let chemicals sit in massive reservoirs until they weren't toxic anymore.

Florida, despite its advertisements as a “Natural” state home to fresh oranges and beautiful native plants and animals in the everglades, is mostly pollution- old auto scrap towns, railroad tracks, big cities with no infrastructure like proper schools, and Grove Towns.

While you’ve moved, deep into bible thumping woods town, the floridian part of you has no fear. All the horror movies think the woodsy sparse towns in the bible belt are the worst. A Floridian knows you should be scared of the Grove Towns. Miles and miles of neatly lined orange grove trees, with little areas or trailer parks here and a busy town of hispanic restaurants and tire shops over there. Crime rates are skyrocket and the murder rate of one not far from orlando was a stunning “200%” and, florida, being a Human Trafficking Capital of the US, those little towns are no better. 

Maybe that's why neither you or Zach batted an eye at your friends concerns. You had a few friend you knew online who’d cracked lots of jokes- moving to a tiny little town with only one walmart! 20 miles from a mcdonalds! But only 5 to the nearest church!

Sure, christian towns are horrifying. But it's not going to be worse than Grove Towns in florida, where every other week someone gets dragged into the marshy ditches lining a grove if you're lucky, only mugged. 

This seems like a lot of rambling- but. Well, it's safe to say it: you hated florida. Maybe it was a joke to just move away- but, no, actually. That was the greatest idea. Zach helped- he helped you house shop. Helped you do research- you’d never had a snow day once in your life, research needed to be done about that. He helped you order some good winter clothes. Zach was a bit older and was born and raised in a northern state- albeit, much more north- he was from suburban new york. Not quite the same as the mid south- but he knew some things.

You found and bought a home over a few months bordering on a year, and he helped you make arrangements to move. Renting a U-haul, and arrangements for him to give you a hand getting your car up the country- He and a another mutual friend, Abbi, made a plan for each of them to drive up, Zach in your car and Abbi in her own. They’d stay up with you a while, then Abbi would drive Zach back in time for the semester of his classes to begin. As helpful as he’d already been, he was interested in making sure you were somewhere livable and not “litterally the asscrack of gods weird religeous sector” as he’d put it… gently. He’d take the opportunity to brag about his handyman capabilities, you were sure of it.

Seeing as you were quite a ways in, you had to erect a tower at the highest point of your property just to get good internet. By “property” you really meant it. You had miles of property. You were not entirely sure who or what owned anything around you. You didnt care- you didnt think youd need to know who owned the deep woods, if anyone. It was probably government land. Logging, maybe. You didn't think you’d ever even venture your entire property.

You were in it for the house.

A snug little house with half a mile of driveway, submerging it in your trees. You had trees- and they weren't orange trees! Or palm trees! 

No, as you pulled down your driveway in a massive rented metal truck, late in autumn, you knew they weren't. They were big, beautifully colorful maple trees. Deep brown oak trees scattered between them- a sheerly excitable and childish part of you jumped at the idea of building a treehouse. You wouldn't  _ need  _ a permit or an association to approve something like that, to build your own treehouse or shed or whatever the fuck you wanted.

You vowed to yourself that you’d build yourself a treehouse like you’d wanted when you were young- alongside your other excited and blooming plans for a spacious garden, for a little artist’s nook workshop, plants you could plant to attract local wildlife, a few animals of your own. You could have your first pet- and it could be a COW if you wanted!

Now- all that would cost, of course. But you were lucky- the property was a steal for its size. Then again, as you pulled to a stop, you were reminded why.

Your home- actual house- it was run down. Not dilapidated, not unlivable. But there were repairs you'd need to make by winter- the pipes were unprotected, you'd been told. They’d freeze over. The insulation was bad and needed to be replacing for heating the place to even be financially feasible. And by the summer, the old single pane windows needed to be replaced or the sun would fry the inside alive with the light. Cosmetics, of course- the place needed new siding, new floors, the front porch was somewhat fallen in and lopsided. You'd been told it was a miracle how well built the roof and the beams and all the support was. Nothing major would need to be done but thermal-prep and the water. 

It was… mostly cosmetics.

You turn the haul truck off and look at your new home.

The windows are boarded up- the place is littered with trash and bags and old… miscellaneous things. 

Everything- every part of the house- is covered in black spray paint. Big shapes of stick people and circles and Xs and garbled words written one over the other.

Cheap… and would need some cosmetic repairs.

Definitely a couple coats of paint.

.

.

.

It's been a couple months.

You and your friends enjoyed the coloring of the leaves for the first month, while the three of you pitched in to make your new abode more… survivable. You'd already set aside the funds for the repairs, and a couple locals you’d met had pitched in. “New To Town” discounts, given as housewarming presents.

The guys who gave you half off on the insulation  _ really  _ liked the house warming joke given how… literal. 

You were certain of it- you’d love living out here. Its beautiful, its quiet, its big, AND the neighbors and local people in town? Friendly as hell. 

You’d found your new job in the middle of some of the major remodels, which was a relief. Waitressing at a little restaurant in town known for its breakfasts. Personally, the pancakes were to die for. You were somewhat surprised to find that they were vegan. Neat little thing they do.

Broken windows were fixed, insulation was replaced for the floor, walls and attic, some siding was replaced, and the whole outside was painted before the first snow. It was a mad dash at the end, but the pipes were even insulated in time for the winter.

Abbi and Zach went back down home- but not without a final surprise. Zach bought you a new set of charcoals and some notebooks, grinning as he joked you wouldn't be able to steal his anymore from half a country away. Abbi got you a big pack of “thermal underwear” as a gag that was just as funny… and might be practical.

Your first paycheck in the second month went to little space heaters- the newer wood floors you’d put in were freezing.

The second one went- immediately into security cameras.

It was only a week after Abbi and Zach had left that you could swear you saw someone just outside on your still dilapidated front porch, hunched over like to peer through the window and its blinds, one… unnatural seeming hand on the doorknob. White white skin stood out so blinding in the black of a dark woods, tainted with an ugly yellow of unnatural artificial light from a bedroom window a few feet away from him-  _ it _ , maybe.

You’d slowly backed to your room through the door, grabbed your cell phone. The reception wasn't fabulous here, the tower wasn't built in yet, but it still worked and you had 911 dialed before you approached the window again.

There was nothing there when you checked. 

You went to sleep that night and spent your next paycheck on a couple cheap walmart security cameras. Cheap cameras that, unfortunately, buzzed and filled with static for spontaneous intervals whenever you opted to look over recorded data. They also offered no sound, or color. They did record to an app on your phone, but eventually you discovered that unless you paid monthly, only a months worth of video would be saved.

Other then static and some distorted video, there was nothing to see. Just woods, and some occasional dear straying into view. 

Over the month you forgot about the cameras, other then late nights where you remembered the figure and checked them to calm your pounding pulse.

.

.

.

_ “SO! Is the place holding up to the standards, kid?” _

The lagging image of Zach beams a grin at you over skypes shotty attempts of working on your less than perfect internet connection. It's not horrible- for skype, anyway.

“oh, you know. Still haunted. Still kinda has that decomposing wood smell.”

_ “Are you using the wax burner I sent you for christmas?? Come on, i got you, like… one hundred scents.” _

“Abbi, it was a whopping total of 4. It was only 4 scents.”

_ “Thats plenty.” _

Abbi’s connection is a bit more stable and less laggy then Zachs- at least one of you in the call has better than basic wifi. She was, thankfully, hosting the call. Only way it survived.

“One of them was ‘Misty Woods’, Abbi. That is exactly what is outside my house at the moment. Misty. Woods. Why would i want that in my house if i could go sniff my backyard.”

_ “It was Misty Autumn Morning, you fool. It’s winter, not autumn. You can't smell that for another year unless you use it.” _

“Right.”

Zach’s belated laughter comes through after a few seconds, giggling at the two of you. “So it's still misty and humid? Isn't that why you left florida?”

“Its cold and clammy, not humid. Different kind of mist. Frankly, i don't know what i prefer. At least in florida, after it rains the mugginess kinda clears up. Up here, the snow doesn't really get rid of it. Just… a cloudy, misty, freezing cold day.”

You pause, leaning back in your chair. You gaze out your window absently- the cat, Jasper, is sitting in the windowsill. He's a good boy and likes watching for birds or animals.

“Honestly… that's most days, so far.”

“ _ Does it make you homesick? _ ” Abbi asked, sympathetically.

“Hell no.”

Your abruptness produces laughter from them boh, if oddly timed considering they aren't in sync.

“Honest? I think i like it. Gives the middle of nowhere a more… peaceful, calm vibe then it does a creepy one like i expected.”

You think you can see something moving in the trees, you think, anyway. As you speak, you squint, trying to see if its a deer. Jasper’s tail swishes back and forth. He’s watching it too.

_ “Well that's good! Better than being homesick.” _

“ _ Man, i knew you wouldn't get homesick. No one ever misses florida! _ ” Zach chuckles.

“Well i miss the both of you barging in every day, there's that.”

You receive a simultaneous ‘awwwww’ and turn back to the video to scoff.

Abbi’s video feed has significantly degraded. Zach’s video isn't even moving anymore.

“Ugh.”

“ _ What? _ ” Zach asks in a slightly distorted audio.

“Skype’s an ass.”

“ _ You live in satans asscrack. It's not skype, its the wifi. _ ” Zach cuts back in amusement.

“ _ As someone with good internet- no, skype is shit. _ ” Abbi quires. “ _ Unfortunately, you have both horrible things in your favor now. _ ”

You groan, and they chuckle. The distortion only increases as they do.

“It's not even snowing anymore, why is it getting worse?”

“ _ Satans- _ ”

“Yeah, Zach, i get it, Satans ass crack. Come up with a new line.” you chuckle, cutting off his skippy voice before it can finish. Although, since everything he says isn't quite in real time, he continues despite what you say. There's a pause, and then his laugh again.

The pitch rises sharply at the end and you jump, almost dropping your canvas paper and the piece of charcoal precariously balanced on the edge of your little workspace on your bed. Worried the audio will break your speakers, if not your eardrums, you try to turn it down.

“Yeesh.”

No voices follow.

“Hey. am i still here for you guys?”

Silence.

A long groan escapes you- cut off by abrupt, but quiet knocking.

You almost jump- surprised you haven't heard a car drive up. Then again- you’ve discovered snow eats up the sound of just about everything.

You rise out of bed and slide into your slippers the instance your skin touched the freezing floor, regretting touching it at all. You make your way out of your room and down the hall, to the front door in the living room.

There's knocking again just at your walking out of the hall. Its not impatient- but, seeminly insistent. There's something odd to it- while the knocks are quick, they're uniform. The exact same amount of seconds pass between each knock, and each knocking sound is precisely the same tone and volume.

It's a weird little mental note, but then again, it's a weirdly specific knock.

Bundled in the blanket from bed, you brace for the cold and open your door- expecting the old country couple, your nearest neighbors, who happen to be the only electricians within 100 miles of you. You’re well acquainted with them from house repairs. 

You’re met with a burst of cold wind- and only that and a few snowflakes.

Your slightly-repaired porch- only enough repairs made so that the front door is actually usable now- is bare and empty.

Jasper hops up into the window in the kitchen and crouches, staring into the tree line and flicking his tail.

You squint into the snow, dumbfounded. 

A second wind of icy flakes breaks you- you almost shut the door again, utterly confused-

The black of your door is scored in chalk, just below the window in its upper portion, blinds still swinging gently against the glass from when you’d about closed it.

One stick man- of childishly drawn proportion, in stark white chalk like it was made from the clean snow itself.

You close the door. Slowly.

And lock it.

You amble pack to your room- finding and flicking open your phone. After a few seconds fumbling, you open the app for your video cameras.

Your blood runs thick with icy sludge in its veins, cold and sharp. In the live, flickering, jumping feed-

No. Then it's gone. As soon as you’d looked at the screen. Like only a total of three frames in a reel- one, it was there, staring at the door, two, it's horrific fac-  _ lack of _ face was pointed at the camera, three, it had turned 180 degrees away from the door and toward the steps down from the porch. By the fourth frame of the video feed, working so very poorly, it was gone. It hadn't even needed to move its long limbs, or, the video had been unable to catch it. A blurry, unfocused, featureless white… face… no face…  _ surface  _ with grooves and curves like it  _ should _ be a face, has burned itself into your brain. 

“ _ HEY!” _

You drop your phone and scream.

“ _ Whoa, whoa, jeez, kid. Didn't mean to scare you, you were just spacing out. _ ”

“ _ Is the stream finally working? F i n a l l y!” _

Head and heart pounding, you look up at the computer. The stream was alive again, if still crawling at a snail's pace. Both of your friends seem amused with you.

You exhale. Slowly.

Jasper leaps into your windowsill again and watches, tail flicking.

.

.

.

Over the next year, life continues. You touch base with your friends in Florida every week at the least- having two friends like them, if several states away- is a relief.

Over the spring you worked for the dinner with a bull headed determination, sucking up any hours you can make. Getting some substantial funds back in order after a winter full of moving, fixing up the house, and buying Surprise Necessities like space heaters and thicker coats and snow-worthy tires for your car.

During the summer you considered getting animals. You has Jasper of course- but you were considering more profitable animals. That's how people cash out on having lots of land, isn't it? Plus, your neighbors had mentioned something called “Greenbelting” before the insulation had been finished up. Tax Breaks if you have enough plants or animals on a property. 

Alongside chickens and cows, perhaps, you were daydreaming about getting a greenhouse together. Maybe spite the dangerous groves back in florida by getting some fruit trees. Apples do well in colder climates, right?

Tentative plans for the future.

You got back into art during the fall, that's for sure.

You’d been playing around with your charcoals at work, doodling in a canvas notepad. Your boss was positively delighted with your work. She was talking about a mural she’d like you to do before you had to woefully tell her you were not, in fact, a painter. Charcoal was your favorite muse, but mostly you liked to draw.

She mumbled after a few moments of deliberation that that was fine, she probably couldn't afford the paints.

Instead, she asked you to make some drawings using charcoal, then.

With some black and whites, you got some nice beige canvas backgrounds, and delighted your boss with a couple commissioned works to fit the theme. A rather realistic robin sitting on a dogs nose was her favorite.

You got quite a few commissions over the fall as the locals came to eat, noticed the new decor in their favorite little breakfast eatery, and made for a commission for their own establishment or for gifts to family and friends.

It was nice to reinvigorate your old practiced hobby, and even nicer to make that side cash.

Over the course of the year you grew… used to the oddities. 

Keeping your curtains and blinds drawn closed and not peeking out kept away nerve wracking encounters with ominously tall pale men. 

Not checking your cameras at random in the night if you were awake kept yourself from wondering why they the cameras were suddenly so bad an unviewable useless whenever you happened to hear movement outside. 

Washing away the chalky drawings from your door or walls with the hose provided a new space for more of them to appear- but, those weren't so troublesome. A commission buyer coming to your home to pick up a work commented that the chalk decorating your house was beautiful, once. You’d subtle followed him out, not betraying of the surprise you felt as you'd washed the night’s chalk away that morning. 

Over the course of that Day your house had become absolutely covered in somewhat grainy, rough drawings. Long, Tall pine trees up the sides of your walls, a sunset over the porch where its roofed cover once was before it had rotted away and fallen out.bright little snowflakes of the hundreds dotting around your windows and quick, child-like five-pointed stars along the base of the house. A dog drawn on the corner of one wall, and some birds rested on branches.

After the buyer had left, you’d walked around the house to the back, intent to get the hose. 

Among the pine trees stretching up to the roof on the back wall, you almost chalk lines of a quick, crudely drawn figure. Ominously long limbs eerily familiar to anxiety ridden late nights.

Your fingers graze the wooden flat paneling and trace the circular head, the torso.

It's also familiar because it's eerily similar to the way that you plan figured in your art. You can remember back to first drawing on your door, and it didn't look like that. This one has a thin, less visual cross over the face, the way someone sketches the cross before adding features. The outline of the chape f a ribcage is faint like it’d been drawn first, the way you do. The dotted line you make to insure a figure’s center of gravity is there the same way you do it, faint, like rubbed away with fingers when unneeded. The way you do it.

As the year progressed, it only became clearer that the chalk designs were learning from your own art.

You’d mentioned the happenings to your friends- they couldn't make heads or tales of it. It was left up to, once again, the joke that your house was haunted.

.

.

.

You try to make up theories why the mystery man can't be captured on film over halloween of your second year, sitting with your friends on Rabb.it- a decidedly better streaming service then skype, with the added blessing of being able to watch a shared youtube video or movie, so it had become the new place to group up.

Along with Zach and Abbi was a never friend, Alex. Alex was pretty great- Zach had met him at work, they'd become fast work buddies, and Alex was invited to hang out in chat one night. Hes basically always there now, a 4th member of the trio-turned-quartet. He even came up with Abbi and Zach to see the place during their winter break.

He’d been down right spooked to fuck over the mystery man, newer to it and the stories then Abbi or Zach.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” He offers over a bit of static reception. “ _ Maybe his atoms vibrate so fast, it fucks up filming him. _ ”

“Sci-fi sheek.” you joke. He's been obsessed ever since staying over that week. Then again, it’s halloween, so you humor his ghosty obsessions.

“ _ He's probably just camera shy. _ ” Abbi jokes, pouring over a textbook for her class.

“ _ What makes you think its a he? What if it's just a really masculine chick. _ ” Zach produces. Hes painting his nails a horrific shade of orange so he can use a sharpie to doodle jack-o-lantern faces on them. He’d practically exploded when he’d gotten the idea earlier.

“Not the vibe i get.” you shrug, “but, hey, you never know.”

“ _ That's right! You never know! It's probably genderless- what does a ghost need with genitals? _ ”

“Ghostsex” is said, in unison, by all three of you across the chat. In varying little  reaction times across some video stalling.

“Well if he  _ is _ , watching me, I’m sure he would not be pleased i'm prying into his sex life, or his pants to check for a dick.” You switch to a different stick of charcoal. 

Considering the choice of topic, you’ve opted to try drawing mystery pale man. The shading of a featureless face with curves and dips but without the actual nose, mouth, or eyes is certainly an interesting challenge.

“ _ I mean in all those little video stills you've shown us, he's wearing a fucking suit and tie. Hes dressing up to meet you- clearly hes looking for a date. _ ” Abbi winks at her camera.

“ _ Can’t a guy just dress well without trying to bone? It's called having respect for style. _ ”

“Zach, your absolute necessity to wear nice vests and dress shirts every day is the  _ real _ weird occurrence.”

“ _ Respect for style! _ ” he repeats, indignantly, despite the chorteling of the group chat.

.

.

.

The morning after halloween, it's a thursday. You have the day off. 

You go outside, to go to your car and drive to get the mail.you have to stop and put the car in park again, because in your mirror, you swear you saw him standing next to your house.

You turn around to look but he's gone- and, secondarily, you discover it.

The large chalk image of what you are certain is supposed to be a portrait of you on the wall of your home.

After a second, you turn forward again to keep driving. You’ve a small smile, because he’s certainly getting better at drawing.

It starts raining on the way home, and its ruined before you can get back to look at it again, bills in hand.

Still, you look forward to the next one when the walls have dried.

**Author's Note:**

> Interested in Donating to the Author or Sponsoring a work?  
> https://ko-fi.com/VvmumV
> 
>  
> 
> Interested in Commissions?
> 
> 5$ USD per 1,000 words  
> >for Dark, or Triggering themes: +1$ USD per 1,000 words  
> >for NSFW of the non sexual variety (violence, gore, etc), +1$ USD per 1,000 Words  
> >for Smut, +3$ USD per 1,000 words
> 
> anything under 1,000 words:  
> >for 1 to 3 separate stories under 1,00 words each, 0.006$ USD a word (example: 500 words = 3$ USD)  
> >for 4+ short stories, 0.005$ USD a word (example: 500 words in 1 story = 2.50$ USD for the story)
> 
> Questions or Contact Via:  
> http://firemama.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
